


Hold on tight and don't let go

by Marayanna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Jonathan Sims, Beholding!Jon, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Fix-It, Gen, HopePunk, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I'm tired of being scared, Jon is a post-apocalyptic cryptid, POV Outsider, Post-Apocalypse, Saving the World, aggresive hopefulness is not a tag but it should be, everything WILL be okay god fcking dammit, helping people, no beta we die like archive assistants, post ep 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marayanna/pseuds/Marayanna
Summary: “Nothing lasts forever,” the Archivist repeats with a quiet determination. ”And itdoesmatter that one person survives even if ten others do not. It matters tome.Get home safe.”And then they’re both gone and he is left on the street, shaking and terrified. Thinking about the blindfolded men who are scarred and thin and absolutely fearless..Elias might have won but not everything is lost yet. The Archivist walks through the broken world, gathering allies and information to overthrow the new king - and touching many lives in the process, giving them hope that they can still survive this after all.
Comments: 46
Kudos: 253





	Hold on tight and don't let go

It’s the first year after the end of the world.

The snarling beast made of pure darkness and malice closes in on them and Dominic clutches his daughter closer to his chest, desperately looking for somewhere, _anywhere_ to hide. His heart is pounding in his ears and cold panic rises in his veins as he hears shouts and cries from people running beside him. They are a ragtag group that decided to travel together, foolishly thinking there is strength in numbers, but there’s not, there’s _not._ The monsters that rule their world and hunt humans for sport care nothing for numbers or weapons or strength, and their howls are getting closer and there’s _nowhere to hide-_

“I know the way,” shouts out a dark-skinned, gaunt looking man and when he takes the lead they all follow blindly, with despair and hope choking their throats, burning their lungs. The group reaches an abandoned basement and rushes inside, closing the door just as the beast turns the corner. It keeps running and its howls grow fainter and fainter as it disappears in the distance, but that doesn’t mean much in this new world where monsters can slither between the cracks in the door, can use spiders or insects to spy on anyone they want. They wait and wait, not moving, not speaking, waiting for _something_ to appear and finish the job the beast that hunted them has started. But nothing happens. Nothing appears. They are, for a short while, safe.

The relief floods Dominic and prickles his eyes with tears as he rocks his daughter in his arms on a dirty basement floor. He turns to the man who saved them, looking for appropriate words – how do you express gratitude for something like saving your _life?_

But the man is not there.

The group looks for him, first in the basement, then in the rest of the abandoned building, but he’s just _gone_ and they have to _move_. Staying too long in an unfamiliar place such as this is a dangerous thing, that much they’ve already learned. And as sad as it might be, people disappearing into the thin air is not the most unusual thing they’ve seen, anymore.

What _is_ unusual though, but only enough to earn one or two remarks, it the fact that the man’s eyes were completely covered by a blindfold.

.

Three years after the end of the world.

One second Paul is smoking on the street, and the next one he’s _in the darkness, complete and total darkness pushing on him tearing him choking with noises all around howls and growls and screams can’t see can’t move can’tcan’tcan’t-_

“Tell me where you are,” says a voice very close to him and Paul can feel the terrified tears running down his cheeks. “Tell me what you see.”

And suddenly where he is, is on the street again, exactly where he was just a moment ago, and what he sees is buildings and streetlights and cars and _a_ _blindfolded man covered in scars standing right beside him-_

He pulls out his gun and shoots him straight in the chest.

The adrenaline fueled decision shocks even him and he can’t decide if he should run away or help the stranger he just shot, but then a realization hits him that even with a bullet through his chest the man doesn’t show any signs of dying.

He grips his gun tighter and aims it at the head this time. “What the fuck.”

The man just smiles lopsidedly and raises his hands in a non-threatening gesture. Paul notices, somewhat hysterically, that in one of them he has a bag of groceries.

Because, apparently, unkillable monsters also need groceries. Right.

“I’m sorry,” the man says “you just looked like you needed… a way out.”

“I did,” Paul admits, and he’s about to ask what exactly has this rescue cost him – some future favor? His soul? Every day humans learn more and more about the monsters and the rules of their new world, but there are still so many unknowns. What is the price of- of getting _help?_

But before he can ask, there’s a sudden spike of panic in his gut and all his hair stands on end. Because a woman is standing on the street, one that definitely wasn’t there when he blinked last time, and her eyes are the same complete and malicious darkness that Paul was trapped in just a few moments ago.

“Not nice, Archivist,” she says nonchalantly, hands deep in the pockets of her oversized hoodie. “You can’t just keep _doing_ that, you know. That’s not very sportsmanlike of you, stealing prey from fellow Avatars.”

The man called the Archivist just scoffs. “I think you will find that you can’t stop me.”

The sudden shift in the air around them makes Paul’s stomach drop. Something passes from the woman to the Archivist, something vile and aggressive and clearly meant to hurt him, but he just stands there, unmoving, and Paul has the weirdest feeling that he is _staring the woman down,_ even though it simply shouldn’t be possible with the cloth over his eyes. Paul is completely ignored, deemed small and unimportant in this clash of the two titans, but the fear is gripping his limbs and he can’t move, can’t run, can barely think.

The woman grunts in pain and looks away first.

“Oh fuck you,” she hisses through gritted teeth “What are you trying to prove? You save one, and so what? Ten others die at the same moment. Few get to survive while we rip the hearts out of a thousand of others!” She makes an aborted movement as if wanting to attack the Archivist physically but she thinks better of it at the last moment. “It’s _our_ world now! We are supposed to be able to feast! And you go around pulling food from our mouth as if that _changes_ anything!” she is shouting now, and her eyes are sharp and wild. The darkness inside them is shifting, as though something alive is lurking in their depths. 

“ _Our_ world,” the Archivist repeats calmly, sarcastically. “Is it really? You have your fun killing and torturing, but at the end all the fear you gather goes up to the Eye anyway. And the only person who gains anything from that is _Magnus_ ,” he says that name like a curse and Paul sees real anger on his face for the first time. It makes him go cold. “I’m surprised you’re all satisfied with being _servants_.”

And that must have hit the nerve because the woman grits her teeth and scowls harder. “Nothing lasts forever” she spits out. “That little self-proclaimed _Watching King_ will fall, and guess who will be there to tear him to pieces when he hits the ground.”

“Oh yes, he _will_ fall” the man agrees “And I, for one, want to see it happen sooner rather than later. There is a plan. Would you like to hear it?”

The surprise silences her for a few seconds and she sizes him up properly for the first time. “What the hell. Let’s talk. I guess I can always kill you later.”

“I _really_ doubt you can,” the Archivist says, but it doesn’t sound arrogant, just very, very tired.

She moves her hand and a patch of pure darkness opens up beside her. She gestures towards it, inviting, and the Archivist moves to go. But he looks at Paul when he passes him.

“Nothing lasts forever,” he repeats the woman’s words at him with a quiet determination. ”And it _does_ matter that one person survives even if ten others do not. It matters to _me_. Get home safe.”

And then they’re both gone and Paul is left on the street, shaking and terrified. Thinking about the blindfolded men who are scarred and thin and absolutely fearless.

.

Seven years after the end of the world.

The hospitals of the world became homes to the bravest, most selfless people the humanity has to offer. Nobody is really sure how to deal with the things this new world throws at them on a daily basis, but by god, the doctors and nurses try and deal with them anyway. They stitch up people bitten by maws with just too many teeth, they close the wounds from bones being suddenly ejected or injected or both, they take care of those crying blood and vomiting spiders. They do what they can, and when there’s nothing to be done anymore, they are still there, lessening the pain, caring for people to the very end.

It’s Anna who is on duty when he comes through the doors of her hospital. She eyes him warily with one hand on the baseball bat under the counter because she might be a healer but she’s not stupid.

There is a couple of people sitting in the waiting area and they all fall silent as he approaches, kneeling in front of Natalie who didn’t stop crying since morning. He doesn’t stumble even though he should be blind, Anna notes, but she is a doctor in the times of Apocalypse and so it’s not the weirdest thing she’s ever seen.

Besides, she’s heard the stories about the blindfolded man.

“I need to ask you some questions,” he says to Natalie, and there’s something weird about his voice, a mechanic undertone like listening to an old recording. Natalie looks up, surprised at being talked to, unexpectedly pulled out from her quiet despair.

“Eighteen years ago you’ve met a man with eye tattoos on his knuckles. I need to know what exactly happened that day.” He softens then, adds more quietly, “Please. It’s important.”

“Who are you?” Anna demands walking towards them, because it’s _her_ patients and _her_ hospital and she can expect a simple courtesy of self-introduction even from visitors who are not quite human.

The man smiles a wry, small smile. “I’m… an Archivist. And I need your statement.”

Quiet whispers break out among the people in the waiting area and she knows they’ve heard the stories, too. The stories about the mysterious Archivist, walking through the world as if it couldn’t harm him, holding power over Fears and bending them to his will. Some people say he’s here to help. Some people say he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, worse than other monsters for appearing kind. There are those who claim that he is not an Avatar, but something else entirely, something even more dangerous. There are those who say he’s the one who started the Apocalypse and he’ll be the one to finish it, finally throwing the world into merciful death and nothingness. 

People say many impossible things.

But there are two facts they all seem to agree on – he has a blindfold. And he wants your statement.

Natalie squares her shoulders and looks straight where the Archivist’s eyes would be if they weren’t obscured. The tears are still drying on her cheeks, but she looks determined now.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says and it seems to surprise him, but he asks, “What kind of deal?”

“My wife is here and she’s…” her voice wavers but she soldiers on, “she’s full of worms. You are supposed to know things, right? The Archivist gathers information, that’s what they say. Then you must know what to do. Tell me how to save her and I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

The Archivist seems to consider that for a few seconds, then stands up.

“Very well then.” He turns to Anna “You are the doctor, right? Show me the patient and I’ll see what I can do.”

And so Anna takes them to the patients room where the young woman lays on the bed, mercifully unconscious thanks to the medication. “She was brought here this morning,” she says, “but she got infected much earlier. There’s too many of them now.”

“There’s a lot, yes” he responds, bent over the bed in concentration, “but it’s not too late yet.”

And then he turns to her taking off his blindfold, and the adrenaline spikes in her veins as if from a sudden fall as her brain scrambles to understand what she actually sees, because-

Because he’s _all Eyes._

And suddenly, in a moment of perfect clarity, she knows _exactly_ where all the worms are and where she needs to cut and prod to get them all out. She gasps and staggers, catching herself on the wall. The Archivist puts the cloth back over his eyes ( _all_ of his Eyes) and Natalie rushes to Anna’s side, unsure, scared, hopeful.

“Out,” Anna rasps, heart thundering in her ears, and both of them look at her in surprise. “ _Out._ I need to prepare for the surgery and I need to sanitize the tools and move her to the operating room and- call the nurse in!” she orders as she herds both of them through the door, allowing herself only a second of hysterics at the thought of quite literally throwing a mystical being out of her rooms. 

She carries out the surgery and, just like she expected, there’s _a lot_ of worms. But she Knows what to do and even though it takes her grueling hour after grueling hour, at the end she is absolutely certain that she got every single one out.

She’s swaying with exhaustion when she returns to the waiting area to share the news, and this time Natalie’s tears are ones from relief.

“I told him my statement, just like I promised,” she says when Anna finally asks. “He said there’s something he must do but he needs more information. And that he just… knows who has that information, so he travels around, looking for these people.”

Anna nods looking at the door the man walked through and… it must be her mind playing tricks on her somehow because they seemed to be a slightly different color when he used it. Or maybe it’s not her mind. Everything is possible nowadays and he _was_ the Archivist after all.

“Do you think it’s true what they say?” Natalie asks.

“Which part?”

“That he’s the real King”

Anna looks at her, surprised. This one, she hasn’t heard. “Do you think it’s possible?”

Natalie thinks about it for a long time, staring at the floor. In the end she just shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says simply, standing up and walking towards the room where the woman she loves is waiting, alive and well. “But he saved my wife and I don’t think much else matters, really.”

Anna looks after her and thinks, yes. Yes you’re right. It doesn’t.

.

Ten years after the end of the world people are praying to the Archivist.

_Please show me the way out of this monster’s clutches. Please listen to me because I have no one else to scream to. Please grant me the knowledge to keep my family safe._

He never answers, of course, and when he appears it’s random and unpredictable and not in response to the calls at all. Still, he leads people to safety when the whole neighborhood falls to the Spiral. He tells wanderers which path to choose to avoid the Buried. He talks to people trapped in the Lonely until they can see the world around them again.

Sometimes he takes statements as payments and sometimes he disappears without demanding anything at all. He warns about the nightmares that come after talking to him, but the truth is that everyone has nightmares now, and many decide that if he were to look over theirs, then it wouldn’t be so bad, really.

And so the gossip spreads, the story grows, and more and more people pray. And even though he doesn’t appear when he’s called, it feels good to have at least one Entity on humanity’s side, one powerful being that _cares._

He doesn’t appear but people manage anyway.

A man runs away from the Slaughter but comes back for a kid he doesn’t know and brings them to safety. An elderly woman invites a group of refugees into her home and gives them food and warmth. A girl sees a man lying by the road and sings for him so he doesn’t die alone.

Because humans are still humans, and no matter how scared and beaten, there are always those who care. There are always those who _help_.

And, of course, there are always those who choose to turn into monster themselves, who become cold and cruel and hateful. But that’s not so different from the times before the world ended, really.

But every day there’s one more person who refuses to let the pain change them, who decides to fight back, who decides to be kind. People call out to Archivist because he cares too, but when he’s not there, there are others who take matters into their own hands and do the job anyway.

.

Sixteen years after the end of the world, the world ends again.

Nobody really knows what happened. One day the reality breaks and shifts and gets remade, and all they know is that there were screams over the Magnus Institute in London and the Eyes pushing down on the Usher Foundation in Washington and storms of fire over Pu Songling in Beijing, but no human was _in there_ , no human saw what really happened, and so guesses and stories and gossip grow lush.

There was a battle and the Watching King fell, they say.

There was no battle, just the conspiracy and revenge, they say.

The Avatars fought among themselves and tried to seize the power at the same time. The Avatars worked together to overthrow their oppressor. The Fears are gone now, toppled along with the Watching King. The Fears are still there, lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike back. There is a new ruler holding reign over the world, the Hidden King, distant and uncaring. There is no ruler and the throne is empty and the Eye is blind, because only the one who brought forth the Apocalypse could truly hold power in the world that it created. 

There was a man, standing in the center of the screams and eyes and fire. His words could shape reality and he bent the Fears to his will.

But no human was there, and so the truth is lost now, impossible to discover amongst such impossible stories. The only thing that matters is that the world is changed again, and people hold their breath in dread, but it doesn’t seem to be changed for the worse.

And so, humanity does what it has always done best.

It adapts.

.

Seventeen years after the end of the world and two years after it ended again, Hannah finds him on the ruins of the old Institute.

There are certain places where he appears most often and even though the wave of enthusiastic rebuilding is in full swing, those places are left alone and undisturbed. They are temples, she thinks, but are they to ensure his benevolence and bring people luck or are they to keep him happy and away from them, no one really knows. No one ever does in matters such as these, she supposes.

“I have a statement for you,” she says as a greeting, and he sighs, looking towards the sky that turned this bizarre blue color she still needs to get used to.

“And what do you want in exchange?”

“I want to find my sister. She went missing in the circus but I _know_ she’s not dead.”

“The circus isn’t supposed to take people anymore.” There’s a cold note in his voice now, an accusation, a warning. But it’s not directed at her. She has a feeling that if he were to find out that the circus _does_ still take people, there would be a reckoning. And that she _really_ doesn’t want to know what kind of reckoning that would be.

“It doesn’t, not anymore,” she rushes to explain. “But she was taken just before the King fell. I know she must still be somewhere. I’m not giving up,” she adds stubbornly, because it’s a discussion she had many times before and she will _not_ stop looking. Not if there’s even a sliver of a chance that her sister is still out there, waiting for her.

The Archivist’s brow furrows, barely visible under the tattered and fried blindfold. All of him is tattered and fried, she thinks absently. He’s thin and wrinkled and graying at the temples. He’s also a powerful monster, the last remnant of the times when the Avatars kept power over humans and feasted on their terror and misery. She looks at him more closely. “You are different than I thought someone like you would be”

“Someone like me?”

“You know. Someone who gave people hope.”

He splutters and finally turns to her fully, and she gets the feeling that if she could see his eyes they would be bulging. She wonders why. As the Avatar of Knowledge he surely knows what people say about him? He’d have to be impossibly oblivious otherwise.

“ _I_ gave people hope?”

“Well. You saved lives, didn’t you?”

“A couple of individuals when _thousands_ died!”

She shrugs, “You did what you could and it means a lot when, you know, the world ends,” a pause, then quieter, “You were a symbol. It gave us the courage to fight back. To survive until the end.”

Because against all odds, against all uncertainties and fears, it all _did_ end, didn’t it? One day they woke up to the world in which the Eye was gone, the King fell, and the Fears became smaller, weaker, manageable. They never went away completely, but now they are something possible to live with. Everyone knows not to go to the woods after dark, everybody counts the doors and leaves spider webs undisturbed. But nobody gets murdered on the street in the broad daylight anymore and there are no manhunting beasts and bloodthirsty clowns crashing into the houses, slaughtering everyone in their way.

They are equal now, people and entities, and that’s something the humanity can manage. It’s not the fairytale, peaceful world the older people like to reminiscence about. But it’s still a much better world than the one Hannah was raised in. 

Despite everything, life goes on.

The Archivist sighs, grouches, “ _I_ gave people hope, _really_ ,” more to himself than to anyone else, still being dumbfounded apparently. “People should know better than to put their faith in any entity that doesn’t actively try to murder them.”

He sounds so very disgruntled she barely suppresses a snicker, “Oh, I didn’t say _faith_. I’m not here to offer a sacrifice and hope you will spirit away all my problems. I’m here to make a deal. So. Will you help me?”

The Archivist sighs, long and deep, but there’s a smile hiding on the edge of his lips when he answers.

“Yes, Hannah,” he says softly, “I will help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% me trying to cheer myself up. Hang in there people. We _will_ get through this.


End file.
